


Find Your Way

by FuryReina (ShadowRese)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowRese/pseuds/FuryReina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years ago, the first battles of the Great War against the Dark Sorceress Ayla broke out, killing many innocent people. And then one day, rumor began to spread among the people that there was a caster of such great power that it rivaled even the Sorceress' own magic, destined to one day defeat her and liberate the realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be finished in time for Nagron Week, but what was supposed to have been a short 2k fic turned into this beast that would not be tamed. Not my best work, but I was obsessing over it to the point where I couldn't get much else done, so I figured I better publish it before I completely lose it.

Another day, another mission, and that was exactly the way Agron liked it. A soldier like him could expect nothing more, and this was a job Agron had been doing since he was sixteen years old.

Twenty years ago, the first battles of the Great War against the Dark Sorceress Ayla broke out, killing many innocent people. Agron's parents had been among them, leaving him, at five years old, an orphan, along with his little brother Duro. They had been found by Master Oenomaus, huddled together in a burnt out shack after their village was destroyed by the Sorceress' army.

After much coaxing and cajoling, the two little boys finally emerged from their hiding place underneath the floorboards. Oenomaus had no idea what to do with two small, shell-shocked little boys, but he also knew he couldn't just leave them there. He took them back with him to the where the citizens of the capitol were attempting to regroup, organizing to fight back against the oppression of the Sorceress and her regime, unwilling to submit to her demands of blood sacrifice and worship as a living goddess.

Somewhere along the line, the realization was made that there were too many young ones left alone. Agron and Duro had been among the first orphans to arrive, and soon there was a steady stream of them. Some found their way on their own, others were brought in by the patrols that went out daily to look for supplies, weapons, stragglers, and most importantly, information.  
In those early days of the war, the compound was attacked many times by the army, but never breached. The young ones were moved underground, to a secure bunker where they would be safe. Years passed this way, until the year Agron turned ten.

Nobody had expected the war to last as long as it had. The People's Army, as they called themselves, had fought back hard, winning back territories as they went. But the Sorceress' forces seemed inexhaustible. The more of her soldiers they killed, the more she produced. The people chose Master Oenomaus, who had been a member of His Majesty's Guard before it all fell apart, as the leader of their new nation, which they nicknamed the Free Realm. He was the one who decided it was time to begin training the young ones in the arts of war when they reached the age of ten years old.  
Agron and Duro, though, had refused to be parted. The first night, Agron had snuck back into the children's bunker to be with Duro, who was two years younger. They were found the next morning curled around one another, by Melitta, Oenomaus' young wife, who was charged with the welfare of the small ones. Agron was dragged kicking and screaming from the bunker, Duro sobbing on the floor in a heap.

Every few nights after that, the same thing would happen, sometimes in reverse when Duro was able to escape Melitta's watchful eye and hide in his brother's bunk with him in the training sector. When they were caught trying to sneak away from the makeshift capitol two weeks later, Oenomaus finally relented, allowing Duro to begin training with his brother even though he was still so young.  
It was clear from early on that Duro did not possess the warrior's skills and instincts that Agron did. Not to say he was terrible in combat, but what the instructors soon discovered was that the boy was a natural caster. The magic in him was strong, and it augmented Agron's superior fighting skills perfectly.

The boys grew into young men, and they exceeded all expectations in their training. Duro's magic grew stronger each day, and he learned to control it with ease, while Agron got faster, stronger, and tougher. The year he turned sixteen, and his little brother fourteen, they were given full status as members of the People's Army, even having been chosen as part of the Elite Guard, a group of warriors who would help to carry out clandestine and delicate missions in the ongoing effort to defeat the Sorceress Ayla.

Ten years passed, and the brothers were older, and now battle hardened. In those years, the People's Army had managed to retake nearly a third of the realm from the control of the Sorceress. Her soldiers did not often venture far beyond the high walls she had erected using her magic any longer. It became a rare thing for them to attack the outlying villages and settlements, and though they knew they should not, the people grew complacent.

Agron and Duro were stationed in one of the outposts closest to the wall, along with several other dyads, the Elite pairs made up of always one warrior and one caster. Of them all, the only two people the brothers could say they were friendly with was a pair of young women close to the brothers' own age. Saxa, the stealth expert and one of the deadliest assassins in the army was paired with Sibyl, a tiny, slip of a girl whose true magic lay in the healing arts. While both girls were small in stature, Saxa was all lean, hard muscle while Sibyl was soft edges. Duro often argued with Agron that the women were partners in more than one sense of the word, or that if they weren't, someday they would be.

"How do you know that?" Agron would question his brother as they sat awake at night, talking in the guard tower. "What makes you so sure?"

Duro would just smile, and waggle his thick, dark eyebrows at Agron. "Call it caster's intuition, brother. Trust me, I'm never wrong about these things."

"Perhaps what you see is only the trust they must have in one another after years of fighting side by side, much like you and I," Agron mused out loud.

Duro burst out laughing. "Nay, brother, they are nothing like you and I, and I can guarantee you that! We may look nothing alike, but no one would ever mistake us for anything other than brothers, while those ladies on the other hand are all sly glances and lingering touches. Afterall, there is more than one way to be a dyad."

Duro was right though, the two had very dissimilar appearances. Where Duro was dark, Agron was light. They were both quite tall, Agron having perhaps only an inch or so on his younger sibling. Duro had a mop of curly, chocolate brown hair that fell into his deep set, dark brown eyes. He wore a small, gold, hoop through one of his nostrils, and a feather on a hook through his earlobe. He was handsome, but what made Duro stand out was the smile he always carried, lighting up his whole face from within. He was jovial, despite the hardships the brothers had been forced to endure, and was equally quick with a jest or a kind word.

Agron, on the other hand, seemed to tower over everyone he met, glowering at them from hard, emerald green eyes. His hair was short, though no matter what he did, it stood up on his head in spikes of burnished gold. He was well built, muscles rippling under his fair skin, and physically imposing. It had been difficult to find the brothers any other dyads to work with because most others were wary of Agron and had wished only to steer clear. Where Duro had taken their past and found it as reason to rejoice for what he still had, Agron would forever see it as having robbed him of the life he would have lived.

"Do you not miss our parents, our home?" he had asked Duro once on the way back from a raid.

"I'm sorry brother, I don't even remember them. How can I miss what I never knew I had?" Duro had replied smoothly.

Agron had bristled at that, because he could never forget the face of his mother as she was dragged screaming from their small cottage, the soldiers laughing as they dragged her by her hair out the door. And he would never forget her last words to him as she hid him in the crawlspace underneath the house. ''Take care of your little brother. Guard him with your life Agron, and never let yourself be parted from him. He needs you." Sometimes at night, he still dreamt of the ring of steel on steel as his father fought valiantly before being cut down by a sword through the back.

It was during this time that rumor began to spread among the people in the Free Realm that there was a caster of such great power that it rivaled even the Sorceress' own magic. The caster was a young, dark, beauty, hair black as a raven's wing, and wide, golden brown eyes, foretold to one day defeat the Sorceress and liberate the realm.

After the relative inactivity of the Sorceress and her men, the People's Army were not ready for what happened next. In the middle of a moonless winter night, the Sorceress sent detachments of her army to attack. Her soldiers and magic casters were brutal, striking at the undermanned outposts. The objective was obvious: the Sorceress was determined to see the mysterious, young caster dead.

Agron and Duro had not been on duty that night, and were roused from a heavy sleep by young Sibyl. "Hurry! You must wake! We're under attack. You are needed upon the field of battle. Saxa sent me to find you. I must go to her, she will need me!" Then the girl was out of the barracks, running, firing off healing and shield spells as she went, doing her best to protect the populace of the tiny hamlet that had sprung up around the outpost.

Time was of the essence, and though they knew they were taking a risk, neither of the two men could take the time to bother with armor, instead taking only their weapons, pulling on their boots as they swiftly exited from the building. Duro muttered protection spells over Agron, who called out, "Stay close, brother!"

Settlers and ragtag militia joined the fighting, everyone doing their best to keep the enemy out of the village proper. The brothers battled back to back, Agron's sword slicing and hacking through enemies, while Duro blasted spells from his hands, using his staff to take out any who managed to get too close.

Just before the sun came up in the eastern sky, the battle came to its end with the remainder of the Sorceress' men retreating from whence they had come. Agron was covered in blood and gore, Duro only faring slightly better. When the elder brother turned, he saw Duro grimacing in pain, most of his tunic burned away, the shoulder and left side of his chest covered in angry, red, blisters.

"Duro!" Agron cried out. "What happened?" He ducked under his little brother's arm, supporting him as the slighter man stumbled.

"Flare spell," he mumbled. "Never saw it coming." Duro's breaths came in ragged gasps, his weight growing heavier on Agron's shoulders.

"When?" asked Agron worriedly, his eyes wide with dread, lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Nigh on two hours," came Duro's gritted response.

"Why did you say nothing?" Agron growled out angrily. Duro could be so damned stubborn at times! "Sibyl!" he shouted, looking around wildly while trying to guide his brother back to the barracks, that had, miraculously, remained unharmed.

There were so many injured people everywhere he looked, and not enough healers to tend to them all. Duro had some skill in that area, but nowhere near enough to be able to cure himself.  
Upon reaching the barracks, Agron dropped his brother into the first bunk he found, not caring who it belonged to. "Try not to move. I shall return with Sibyl," he softly spoke as he pressed his hand to Duro's forehead, shoving the curls back away from his face. Underneath, his little brother's eyes were glassy, his cheeks red and feverish.

Turning on his heel, Agron rushed out to find the young caster. He spotted her at the far end of the battlefield, tending to the wounded as fast as she could. Not wanting to call out to her, he strode swiftly to her side, touching her arm lightly when he reached her.

The girl turned to him, relief flooding her features at the sight of him. "Agron, you are well, thanks be to the Ancients. And Duro?" she queried, peering around the giant's shoulder for the younger sibling.

Swallowing deeply, Agron leaned close and murmured low in her ear, "He was not so fortunate. Will you help?"

"Yes, of course," she said as she excused herself from the group gathered around her. "Saxa is setting up an infirmary near the square. Please, everyone go there that you may have your injures assessed and treated."

Most of those nearby were not too badly hurt, but still they grumbled, others still crowding her, vying for her attention. Agron found himself out of patience, and roared at them. "You heard her! Move your sorry asses!"

Beside him, Sibyl flinched, but said nothing, knowing it was Agron's worry for his brother that caused him to be so brusque. "I'm sorry," she called to the people left behind when Agron took her by the elbow and guided her back to where Duro lay on a cot, sweat soaking the thin pallet beneath him.

Helpless, Agron stood by as Sibyl knelt over his brother, her hands suspended above the burns in his shoulder. Her words could not be distinguished, but she kept up a litany of incantations, her palms beginning to give off a faint, glowing, blue light. Duro moaned and thrashed beneath her ministrations, but did not regain consciousness.

Drops of perspiration began to form along Sibyl's forehead, and her brow furrowed with the effort. The words she muttered lost their steady cadence, and she whimpered loudly, her discomfort making itself known. Exhausted, the young caster collapsed forward, barely managing to thrust out her hands so as not to land on top of Duro, then slowly lowered herself to sit on the floor, breathing heavily.

Agron swallowed hard before dashing forward to kneel at his brother's bedside. "Is he healed?" he asked, not bothering to turn and look at the girl who sat trembling behind him on the dirt floor.  
Receving no answer, Agron whirled to face Sibyl. He took her by the shoulders and asked louder, "Sibyl! My brother does not wake. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry... Agron..." the petite girl replied in between ragged pants. "Duro is too... far gone... There is nothing I... can do... but ease his pain."

"No!" he shouted at her. His hands on her shoulders tightened painfully, and he shook her roughly. "Try again!" Agron commanded. "You must not give up, Sibyl!"  
Sibyl shook her head from side to side, and tried weakly to twist out of the large man's hands. "I can't, Agron," she gasped. "Please, stop, you're hurting me!" The young woman began to cry, her heart aching for both men.

Agron did not hear her, his mind lost to the despair that came from hearing there was no hope for his brother. He continued to shake her, and shout in her face. What words he was saying not even he knew, because he could not form a coherent thought. There was a roaring sound in his ears, a raging storm that blocked out everything else.

Sibyl was sobbing on the floor when Saxa came running in. Immediately, the blonde warrior woman grabbed Agron from under his arms, and with a strength belying her small frame, bodily hauled him away from the distraught, young caster. She came to stand in front of her partner, ready to shove Agron away again if need be. When he made no attempt to rise from the floor, Saxa turned and went to bended knee in front of Sibyl. She listened quietly as the girl explained what had happened, her eyes tightening when she learned Duro could not be helped.

By the time Sibyl was finished talking, Agron had dragged himself forward to rest beside Duro's bunk. He cradled his little brother's head in his arms, hot, molten tears slipping from his eyes and down his haggard face. The girls watched silently, their hands clasped together as Duro slipped away.

Dark eyes opened to lock with green, and Duro nodded his head almost imperceptibly, as if letting Agron know it was alright, that he was ready to let go. He reached his arm up to clasp a hand to his older brother's shoulder. They all watched as the once happy, kindhearted young man took a few shuddering breaths, and then went still.

Agron began a keening sound in the back of his throat, his breaths shallow. He was lost in a tumultuous sea of grief, and he felt like he was five years old again, helpless to stop it as the things he loved most in his life were ripped away from him. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to press his lips gently to his brother's forehead, one final act of love performed too late for the brother gone from the world. Then, he raised his head to the heavens and let loose a roar from the depths of his soul that carried all his love and hope, leaving nothing but black rage and pain.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Agron, it's been six months. You cannot be allowed to continue going out on missions without a caster. It's time-"

"No!" Agron snapped, cutting Oenomaus off before he could finish saying it. "If what you ask is that I forget... him, I will not do it." He still couldn't bring himself to say Duro's name.

Master Oenomaus sighed heavily, knowing there would be no reaching Agron. For months, both he and Melitta had tried to get Agron to talk to them. But the tall warrior refused to broach the subject of his brother. He flew into uncontrollable rages at the slightest provocation, and more than once he had needed to be restrained or locked in a holding cell to keep him from hurting others or himself.

"You know very well that is not what I am asking. Melitta and I have cared for you both since the day I found you. Do not think you are the only one who mourns for Duro," Oenomaus chided gently.

Agron eyes grew wide, and the other man held his breath, knowing what would follow. "And do not think to compare your pain with mine! He was everything to me, do you not see that?" The hulking warrior's voice softened as he said the next part. "And he left me, to go where I cannot follow."

Without another word, Agron turned away and trudged from the room to his own quarters. The compound was large, but his small cell was not far. As he walked he kicked up dust that swirled around his feet, drifting up into the air and stinging his already burning, red-rimmed eyes. Agron had always preferred being out and away from the capitol, the heat and the dry, arid climate never quite agreeing with him. He and Duro were from the North, where the air always had a bite to it, and it sometimes even snowed in the summer.

Sleep would not come, he knew that, but still Agron lay on his mattress and closed his eyes. His heart was heavy, and some days it felt like it would drag him down into a darkness he would never be able to escape from. He desperately wished Spartacus, a fellow brother in arms, and perhaps the best man Agron had ever known, were here now. He was the only person to remotely understand the pain Agron was in. Spartacus' wise words and sage advice always made Agron feel better, just knowing someone else had gone through much the same thing and come through relatively sane.

It had taken years after the loss of his wife, Sura, for Spartacus to trust someone else enough to take them on as partner. He and Mira were perhaps the most powerful of all the partnerships in the People's Army, and no one who didn't know them would be able to guess they had not always been together. Would Agron ever find that trust with someone again? Would his heart ever heal enough for him to let someone in?

A week after his audience with Master Oenomaus, Agron was training in the compound when he overheard some of the new recruits to the Elite Guard talking about the young caster that was believed to be the bane of the Dark Sorceress. He ceased his swinging at the palus, pretending to adjust his vambraces that he might better hear their words.

"I've heard the caster arrived last night, in the capitol, in search of a retinue for the journey to defeat the Sorceress."

"Who will choose the guardians?"

"Master Oenomaus, surely. Though it should not matter a whit to you, as you are in no danger of being selected!"

The laughter of the young men and women rang out as they moved away from the training grounds towards the armory. Agron set to work once more on the palus, alterating between attacking and using his shield to practice deflecting spells. While he trained, he turned his thoughts over in his mind.

The caster was said to be the one to defeat the Sorceress, who ultimately, was responsible for Duro's death. The only way Agron would have his vengeance would be to make sure the Sorceress was dead, and that meant helping the caster achieve their goal. If a protector was what was needed, Agron wanted it to be him. Perhaps once he had avenged his brother, he might be able to move forward with his life, and leave the past in the past. That night, for the first time in many months, Agron slept soundly, and was not awoken by horrific nightmares of Duro dying repeatedly.

Agron rose before dawn, determined to be among those selected for the mission. He believed he stood a good chance, especially with Spartacus away from the city. He was one of the most skilled fighters, with a high mission success rate. The only thing that might keep him out of contention was his refusal to take on a new caster, and not conforming to the army's rule of dyads.

In the training center, Agron put himself through the obstacle course several times, then moved on to work the palus, and was just getting to deflecting when he saw Oenomaus entering his private hut with a small figure in tow. Agron could not see the person's face, but he was certain it must be the caster.

Sheathing his sword, the towering warrior made for the small hut. He crossed the training yard with confidence, knowing he had found purpose once more. Agron rapped on the door with his knuckles, then leaned in to listen. From inside came the sounds of movement, and hushed voices.

Oenomaus' deep, baritone, voice called from within. "Who is there?"

"Master, it's Agron Schild. May I speak with you?" Muffled sounds emanated from the room, and Agron did his best to wait patiently, even though his only desire was to burst into the room and demand to be appointed to the escort. Such rashness would not serve him well in this instance, so he bit his lip and mentally reminded himself to appear calm.

"You may enter, Agron, and close the door behind you," Oenomaus answered. Agron exhaled a giant breath, then pushed the door open and ducked into the small, cramped room, pulling the door shut. As an afterthought, he turned and bolted it as well, ensuring they would have no unwanted visitors.

The first thing the warrior noted was that the hut appeared dim. Puzzled, Agron cast his eyes about. The shades were open, and the sky outside was bright, so why was it so dark and hard to see inside?

"You wished to see me?" Master Oenomaus prompted.

Agron shook his head, clearing it. "Um, yes. Apologies, sir. I wanted to ask you to place me on the caster's detail. I saw you enter with..." The tall man's voice faltered, as his eyes scanned the room, finding the caster absent. He was certain he had seen two people enter, yet the only one inside was Master Oenomaus.

Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before opening them once again. This time, Agron noticed a standing screen in one corner of the room that he had never seen before. He tilted his head to the side, certain he had detected movement behind the shade.

"Agron," sighed Oenomaus. "You know my thoughts on this, son. Until you find the other half of your dyad, you will go on no more missions. It is far too dangerous to be without a magic wielder, and I do not believe you would serve your charge well by being so stubborn."

"Master, you must reconsider. Since the day my brother passed, I have wanted nothing more than to see the Sorceress brought low. The blame for the loss of my family can be laid at her feet. Do not deny me the chance for vengeance! I-"

"Enough!" roared Oenomaus. "I have given you my decision. Nothing you say will alter my mind!"

"What about something I say?" came a melodic, velvety voice from the corner of the room.

Any retort Agron had been about to make died on his lips when the voice spoke. Someone stepped from behind the screen, their head bowed low. The room brightened, dark shadows receding to the corners with the person's entrance.

"Nasir," Oenomaus began in a placating tone. "I am not sure that is a wise choice. There are true dyads ready to take on this responsibility, ones that are more suited to a mission of this magnitude than a single warrior."

The stranger turned, and smiled wryly at Agron. He was lovely- smooth, olive skin, large, expressive eyes the color of honeyed mead, and long inky, black tresses that fell past his shoulders. He was slight, and compact, but underneath his cloak, Agron could see hints of taut, wiry, muscle.

"The choice is mine, no?" the young man asked, keeping his eyes on Agron even though his question was directed at Oenomaus, who cleared his throat before answering warily.

"It is, but Nasir, I must insist-"

"I would have him. And no other," came the young caster's even reply.

Agron's eyes darted down to the floor, and took in the state of himself. He was suddenly self conscious, regretting his decision to come straight here from training, instead of to the baths to shower and change his clothes. He was grimy, dirt caked underneath his figernails, and likely reeked of sweat. He could feel his hair plastered to his head, instead of sticking straight up as was customary.

Beside Agron, Oenomaus had stiffened, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked back and forth between the two young men, then nodded his head once sharply in assent. "Very well, if you are certain. Much depends upon your success, so I pray you know what you are doing, Nasir."

"Gratitude, Oenomaus. I have never been more certain of anything in my life." Nasir then addressed Agron for the first time. "What name do you go by, warrior?" When he received no response, Nasir continued. "I know you must have a name, but if you do not wish to tell me I suppose I will have to make one up for you."

"Agron," the mighty warrior blurted out. "I am called Agron Schild."

The caster smiled, and motioned Agron towards the door. "We leave in three days time, Agron Schild. Come with me, and we will collect your things from the barracks and move you to my own secure quarters."

Agron followed the boy obediently, still feeling extremely uncouth next to the genteel beauty he walked with. He marveled at the fact that the caster was a male. He wasn't sure why but he had been expecting a girl, perhaps because in his heart, Duro was the only male caster that could matter.

The next few hours passed by with Agron in a daze, doing what was asked of him by the boy that was to be his charge. _Put your things here. Move this piece of furniture there. Collect this or that for me. I do not wish to be in the company of others, bring us a meal here._

It was not until after the midday meal that Agron excused himself, wanting to bathe, wash his hair, and put on fresh clothes. He was taken aback when the young caster forbid it, informing Agron the he wished to spend the afternoon training together in the yard. "I see no reason for us to train together. We are not a dyad, and never will be," Agron said bitterly.

Nasir raised one eyebrow, masking the sting he felt at Agron's sharp words. His voice was hard when he replied. "You are correct. Perhaps we may never be a dyad, but we will likely have to face enemies along the way, and I would rather not be forced to fight alongside a man I have no compatibility with, so we will train together. Unless of course the warrior is too tired?" Nasir challenged.

Four hours later, Agron and Nasir made their way to the baths, both drenched in sweat, muscles aching from a vigorous session. Agron had to admit, fighting beside the caster had felt right and familiar. The boy's weapon of choice was a spear, like Duro's, and for a moment, Agron had felt sure his heart would not be able to withstand the pain. But the boy had a very different fighting style. He was small, and quick, where Duro had been tall and powerful.

As the two men walked, they gave their assessments of one another's skills. "Where did you learn to deflect that way? I have never seen one without magic respond that quickly to a spell." Nasir's words were meant as praise, but Agron stopped walking, a pained look on his face.

"My brother," he said, so quietly that Nasir could barely hear him. "He was my other half, and a master of his craft. He forced me to practice deflecting." Agron looked at Nasir, his eyes glistening suspiciously. "Apologies, I have forgotten something in the armory. Do not wait for me. I'll be along shortly." With that, he strode back the way they had come, not looking back once.

Nasir took the evening meal alone, and when Agron still did not return, went to bed early. The moon was bright in the night sky by the time the warrior made his way into their now shared rooms. He could feel Agron standing beside his bed, but pretended to be sleeping. A few minutes later the warrior slipped into his bunk, and not long after the sounds of muffled crying came from that side of the room, lasting almost until dawn.

Over the next few days, Nasir was careful in his words with Agron. He had a private meeting with Oenomaus, who explained Agron's reaction had likely come from his still raw grief over the loss of his brother. Nasir wanted to apologize, but he was wary of broaching the subject with the man who would be his protector on his journey.

Instead, he talked of himself, and of his life in the temple. Nasir had been identified as a caster of great potential as a very small boy, and his parents had gladly given him over to the temple priests, knowing one less mouth to feed meant a greater chance of survival for their other children and themselves.

The night before they were to depart, the two men lay on their separate bunks, whispering to each other in the dark. "Sometimes, I think I miss them, but then I realize I don't really remember them anyway. The priests were good to me, and I had enough to eat, and was given a purpose in life, something I never would have had, had I stayed with my parents."

In a small voice, Agron replied. "My brother once said much the same thing to me about our parents. At the time, I did not understand him, but hearing you now, I think I am beginning to."  
Nasir decided to take a chance. "What was his name, your brother?"

Agron took a long time to answer, and Nasir was just starting to think he might ignore his question, when he heard, "His name was Duro."

"What was he like?" Nasir asked, gladdened that Agron had come to trust him enough to speak of the man in front of him.

"He was nothing like me," said Agron wistfully. "Duro was kind, and considerate, and full of laughter. He was a powerful caster, and a strong fighter, and I don't believe he had any malice or hatred in his soul. Everyone who knew him loved him, but none more so than I."

"I'm sorry," came Nasir's heartfelt reply. "We need not speak of it if it causes you pain."

A huff of laughter was the response, and then Agron continued speaking. "Of course it causes me pain, Nasir. But it is an exquisite pain, and one I would gladly visit with you. If truth be told, you remind me much of him, and perhaps that is why I feel at ease talking of him with you." Here the intimidating warrior paused, sending a silent apology to Duro for taking some small measure of comfort in the company of this boy he barely knew.

"But enough talk for tonight, little man. Tomorrow begins our journey, and I would have you rest well this night."

_Little man?_ , thought Nasir sleepily. Had he not been halfway to slumber, he might have told Agron exactly what he thought of that sobriquet.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chilly, night air ruffled Nasir's long hair as the two men rode in silence through the Sorceress' territory, picking their way through the trees slowly. Though it was difficult moving in the darkness, Agron had insisted their chances were better than riding the main road in broad daylight.The first day, the two young men had ridden hard, for nearly twenty four hours straight, until they had come to the edges of the Sorceress' domain. From then on, the had travelled only in darkness.

The further north the two men moved, the colder it became. Agron also became more silent, knowing the he was very close to the home he had been driven from as a child. One week into their journey, Agron stopped them beside a small stream where the water ran frigid and crystal clear. The men dismounted to refill their water skins and eat.

From his pack, Nasir pulled some dried meat, and hard biscuits. It was not a sumptuous meal, but after a long night of travel, any food seemed as a feast. Agron's continued silence was disconcerting to Nasir, and he wondered if he had done something to offend the man. He had thought things were going well between them, but perhaps he had been wrong. After all, it wasn't as though they would become friends at the end of this mission.

After packing their things back up and replenishing the water supply once more, Agron moved them closer to the main road. The cover was not so thick there, so they would have to make do without a fire to warm them. The ground where they lay was damp and cold, and Nasir was grateful for the thick bedroll Melitta had gifted him. Still though, the thin boy shivered beneath his blanket, being so used to the warmer Southern climate.

"How do you not freeze in this cold?" he asked sullenly, not really expecting Agron to respond. He was surprised when he heard the warrior answer somberly.

"I was born in the village that lies on the other side of the main road. Or, at least that is where it used to lie. I am certain there is nothing left of my home so many years later. As boys, Duro and I used to play in the stream we passed earlier. He was yet a babe when I taught him to swim."

"Apologies," Nasir murmured. "I did not know."

"How could you? It's not as though I have been the most companionable man of late," Agron replied matter of factly.

"Still..., I am sorry for... words... spoken carelessly," Nasir managed to get out, his teeth now chattering from the cold.

Agron hesitated a moment, then sighed heavily, rose from his spot on the ground and went to Nasir. "Move over, little man," he said, resigned.

"Why? What are you doing?" the younger man asked, obviously alarmed. "I said I was sorry, now go away and leave me be!"

Taken aback, Agron stared down at the frightened boy. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you are cold. I am sure Oenomaus and the rest of the realm would consider it a failure if I allowed my charge to freeze to death," he responded with a crooked grin. Then, more gently, "Come on now, move over. We will both be warmer together."

Reluctantly, Nasir made space for the large man behind him, who slid into the bedroll. Agron then pulled his blanket over them both, enveloping them in a warmth that radiated from Nasir's center outward. As he fell asleep, he wondered why they hadn't decided to do this before now.

When Nasir woke, the sun had just set, the sky now a dusky purple. He missed the sun and it's warm comforting light and thought, _I shall never feel its rays again_. Banishing such thoughts from his mind, the boy snuggled closer to the warmth behind him, his smaller body slotting perfectly against Agron's larger one. The strong, thick arm slung around his waist made him feel protected, and safe and he smiled to himself, before opening his eyes wide in realization.

The caster could not deny he had harbored desires for just such a thing, but he also knew he could not act on them. Still, Agron was beautiful, strong and powerful, as though carved in the image of the Gods themselves. Though he had every right to be, he was not arrogant, but humble and sincere. And his heart, his broken heart that had yet to mend, that still had so much love to give, it was his most endearing quality.

But it was also because of that broken heart that Nasir could never share his feelings. Agron did not know it yet, but this mission would end with only one of them coming back alive. If Nasir was successful, he would have channeled the power of the ancients to defeat the Dark Sorceress, his own life force burning up in the process. Nasir could not allow himself to love Agron, because what if Agron loved him in return? What if he fell in love with Nasir, only to lose him as he had already lost his brother? As much as he wanted this wonderful man he travelled with, Nasir would have to hide his feelings.

Carefully, he slid Agron's arm off his body, and inched out of the bedroll. The sleeping giant stirred, mumbled something unintelligible, and went still again, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Nasir pulled on his traveling cloak and cautiously made his way back to the stream that they had passed earlier. Along the way he relieved himself, then washed in the stream. The water was ice cold, and left the young man shivering.

Nasir was readying himself to make the trek back to the makeshift camp when he heard movement in the trees behind him. There were several voices, which quikcly banished the thought in his mind that it might be Agron. Nasir brought his hands together, then spread them outward, casting a dimness spell that would help him to hide in the shadows and darkness, then set off with haste to find Agron.

Upon reaching the place where he thought the camp to be, Nasir was surprised to find the spot empty, with no evidence of anyone ever having been there. "Agron!'' he hissed. "Agron, where are you?" Nasir cursed. He didn't even have a belonging of the man's to cast a locator spell. He could see no other choice but to head to the other side of the main road, and was readying himself to move in that direction when a hand clamped around his mouth from behind, and an arm encircled his waist, lifting his feet from the ground and dragging him into a thick clump of trees.

 

Once he had been put down, hands spun him around. Face to face, Agron growled lowly, "Why did you not attempt to fight back?"

"Because I knew it was you,"Nasir answered. "And there is no time for this. There are troops-"

"Only a small detachment, perhaps even deserters. We have to cross the main road, there are still some buildings that stand in my old village to offer concealment." As he spoke, Agron tugged Nasir along until the road was in sight. "Now! Run!" he barked.

Nasir took off at a sprint, his thin legs pumping as he ran for his life. He could hear Agron running behind him, and then shouting. The soldiers had seen them, and were now in pursuit. It was hopeless, they would be overrun this way. Skidding to a stop, Nasir turned and cast a shield spell just as the first arrows were fired.

"We cannot outrun them Agron. Fighting is the only option." The caster looked into the older man's eyes when he spoke, and there was grim resignation reflected back at him. He knew Agron did not relish the idea, and if there were another way, he would gladly do it, but there wasn't.

Nodding once, Agron took position beside Nasir, tossing their packs to the side before turning to face the oncoming soldiers. The next few minutes were a blur. Nasir could sense more than feel or see Agron swinging his sword, using his shield to strike heavy blows to his opponents or deflect. The young caster for his part discharged spells at rapid speed, attacking and defending almost simultaneously. For a few furious minutes, the skirmish raged, Agron and Nasir working together seamlessly.

When the last attacker was brought down, the two men stood in the middle of the road breathing heavily, stunned at what quick work they had made of the Sorceress' men.

"Let's move,'' Agron ordered. "We must be gone before any others come looking."

Nasir nodded, and followed Agron back into the trees, and to a spot just ahead where he had hidden their horses. They wasted no time strapping their gear back on. "Take to the road, just for a little while," Agron suggested. "It will make it easier to put some distance between us and those dead men. In a couple of hours we can move back to the woods.  
During the ride, Agron was silent, mulling over what had just occurred. He and Nasir had made a perfect pair, two parts of the same whole. If he had to be honest with himself, he would say they had made an ever better match that he and Duro had. Because they were brothers, there had been the tendency between them to try and show the other up at times. With Nasir, there was none of that, simply two working in perfect tandem.

Three hours of hard riding was enough for the men to feel at ease enough to return to the slow progress of the forest. Shortly after entering the woodland, Nasir cleared his throat and asked what had been on both their minds for hours. "What was that back there? I have never been part of a matched pair before, and yet, I cannot help but think something incredible occurred."

Agron saw no reason to lie. "It did. I have never felt anything like it."

Nasir's cheeks burned hot, and he was grateful for the darkness that hid his reaction to the warrior's words. "Gratitude. I am most privileged to have shared the field of battle with one so skilled."

"Do not sell yourself short, little man. Your abilities far exceed those of any caster I have ever seen. Even my brother," Agron chuckled. A beat passed before he realized what he had said, and another before he realized the pain was not quite so fresh when he mentioned Duro. In fact, if he truly thought about it, since he had met Nasir, and especially since they had begun their voyage together, the ache in his chest whenever Duro crossed his mind was no longer the searing agony of old. Sometimes Agron wondered if perhaps the young man were using his magic on him, but he knew it his heart that was not the case. He knew Nasir was a comforting, healing presence in his life.

From that day on, whenever they stopped to make camp, Agron and Nasir slept curled around one another, bodies pressed together tightly, for warmth and solace. At night they rode onward, sometimes talking, sometimes simply content to be each other's presence. Occasionally there were more guards and soldiers to fight, all of which the two young men dispatched with relative ease.

The men were still another week from their destination when Agron found them an abandoned shack to sleep the day away in. Overjoyed because he would not have to sleep on the hard, cold, ground, Nasir stood in the middle of the dilapidated structure, his arms spread wide, and a laugh bubbling from his throat. He spun around a few times, and Agron knew he would never see anything more beautiful as long as he lived. The older warrior felt a soft smile on his lips, and realized he had not felt this happy in forever, and it was all because of the young caster.

After a small meal of dried roots and meat from a rabbit Agron had managed to snare a few days back, the two companions took to an old, dirty pallet they had dragged to be near the door to the shack. Settling down together had become something of a familiar routine, Nasir's back cradled against Agron's front, the warriors arms wrapped around him while they slept. They both told themselves it was only for warmth, even though they knew it wasn't true.

That particular morning though, the men were not ready to sleep. The last two nights had been easy traveling, not having met any patrols, and finding plentiful food and water. Agron pressed his nose to Nasir's hair, which smelled of rose oil. The boy kept a vial of it in his pack, and was extremely vain about his tresses, becoming surly and irritable if they did not pass a body of water he could wash it in every day. Inhaling deeply, Agron closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to the top of Nasir's head.

"Agron," Nasir whispered, finding it difficult to keep his feelings hidden when their bodies were enfolded together in such a manner.

"Shh," Agron murmured back. "I am sorry, I should not have-" Before he could finish his thought Nasir rolled in his arms, their chests now flush against each other.

"Do not apologize," the younger man said softly. "I am gratified by your affection." His golden brown eyes were downcast, slightly embarrassed by his reaction. "I would have you know that I return it," Nasir finished haltingly.

The younger man was looking down, so he never saw Agron's hand reach up to cup his cheek. He felt it though, the warmth and the roughness of his palm, more suited to wielding weapons than gentle touching. Nasir was hyper aware of the heat Agron's body was giving off, of the fact that he could feel Agron hardening against him.

Hearing the soft moan Nasir emitted gave Agron courage to bring his arms around the smaller man's neck, one hand coming to rest at the base of his skull. The other hand snaked up into Nasir's hair, fingers twining into the silky soft strands and tugging gently.

Their faces hovered a mere hair's breadth away from one another, mouths open, breath mingling, until finally Nasir closed the distance and pressed his lips to Agron's, who responded in kind. This kiss was desperate and heated, and full of the tension that had been building between them for some time. Nasir parted his lips slightly in invitation, then felt Agron's tongue slip into his mouth, where it slid against his own deliciously, tasting of the mint leaves Agron was so fond of.

One of Agron's thick, muscled thighs pressed insistently against Nasir's. The smaller man permitted him entry, and the leg slid in between Nasir's, creating a lovely friction. Nasir began to move his hips, grinding against Agron, who groaned and broke the kiss to catch his breath.

When the larger man moved his mouth back to Nasir, he didn't kiss his lips, but gently nip at the sensitive skin of his neck, just below his ear. Nasir gasped in pleasure, his eyes snapping open in surprise. Agron grinned against his paramour's neck, then bit down a bit more forcefully, then proceeded to suck greedily until he was sure he had left a mark.

"You have no idea how much I have longed for this, Nasir," Agroh murmured in the smaller man's ear. "I have needed you for so long."

The words were uttered so guilelessly, and with such sentiment that Nasir was stopped short. His body, which had become so pliant under Agron's ministrations went rigid. He removed his hands from the warrior's waist, and placed them against his chest, the rough fabric of Agron's tunic scratching his palms, and pushed back sternly.

"Wait, Agron no. Stop," Nasir said, hating himself for what he was about to do, no matter that it was for the best.

"Why? What's wrong," Agron asked him, releasing Nasir's hair from his hands, and putting a little space between their bodies.

"I can't do this, we can't do this," answered Nasir, doing his best to hide the pain in his voice.

Swallowing heavily, Agron began, "If you are worried that I will regret this come nightfall, I promise you that I-"

"No," Nasir replied, the words bitter in his mouth. "I am worried that I will regret it." The caster kept his eyes averted, afraid to look into Agron's and see the pain he was causing the older man.

"But Nasir-"

"No, Agron. I don't want this. I don't want you this way."

Agron could not have been hurt more had Nasir pierced his heart with a spear. All the warmth seeped out of the room, his hot blood turning to ice water in his veins. "Then I shall vex you no longer," he retorted. Extricating himself from the tangle of blankets, he stood, adjusted his breeches, and turned to look for his dark green, leather traveling cloak. "Keep the blanket, you will need its warmth." Pulling the cloak over his shoulders, he left the relative warmth and safety of the hut, and did not return for many hours.

During that time, Nasir fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamt of Agron leaving him, of Agron dying, of Agron telling him he despised him. He woke in the evening clutching Agron's blanket to his chest, sobbing into it. The first thing he did was look around for the stern warrior, and found him slumped with his back against the door to the hut, his chin resting on his chest.

Mournfully, the young man rose from the pallet and began folding their few meager belongings back into packs. As quietly as he could, Nasir dressed, pulling his light armor over his tunic. The last thing he did was take a few drops of the rose oil and work them into his dark locks, untangling as best as he could with just his fingers.

When he faced the door once more, Nasir found Agron awake and watching him. Nasir regarded the man in front of him warily, as though he were afraid that Agron would confront him about the happenings of the morning.

The warrior only smirked scornfully, then stood and moved to where he had left his own armor. He fastened the straps and buckles, then tugged on boots. Shouldering their packs and his own weapons, Agron brushed past Nasir and headed for the horses tethered behind the shack. Working silently, Agron secured all their equipment and mounted his horse.

The behavior stung Nasir, and he was already missing their easy banter. He understood why Agron was acting this way though, and he had no time to dwell on his regrets. The most important thing was the mission, and it did not appear that Agron was going to give up on that. Nasir knew that soon, none of this would matter, not to him anyway, because his voice would be forever silenced and his heart stilled for the rest of time.

The next four days and nights were strained, both men on edge and uncomfortable around one another. It was such a drastic change from when they had first begun their journey, and Nasir could tell they were both mourning the death of something that had never really been given life to begin with.

One night, just before they reached the abandoned temple that was to be their last stop before facing the Dark Sorceress, the two young men ran across a small patrol. Agron had ridden up on them unknowingly, and the subsequent fight went far from smoothly. The perfect synchronization they had possessed was off. Nasir found himself getting in Agron's way, and vice versa.

Hearing Agron's pained shout woke something in Nasir though, and he fired off a rapid succession of attack spells, felling the scouts before any of them could strike even one more blow. The young boy ran to Agron's side, who was holding his bleeding left arm. One of the soldiers must have gotten a lucky hit in.

"Agron, are you all right?" Before he could stop himself, he had placed his hands on Agron's wound, his hands glowing with a faint silver light, casting a healing spell on his companion.

Agron's eyes were flooded with relief, but whether it was relief from the pain or from his desire to be close to Nasir he wasn't certain. He rubbed his arm, noting in awe that not even a scar remained. Feeling irritated, Agron brushed Nasir's hands from his arm, where they had lingered after having worked his magic. "What do you care anyway?" He stood so abruptly that he nearly knocked the young boy over. "Damn, we've lost the horses!" Agron roared, and followed it up with a strange half growl, half bark.

"We are very close to the temple," Nasir answered, hoping to coax Agron from his foul temper. "If we move now, we can likely be there within the next few hours."

"Then what are we waiting for? The sooner this mission is complete, the better!" Agron began to storm away, until he realized he didn't know which direction the temple lay in. "Well, moonlight is wasting!"

Nasir curled his lip in annoyance, the pushed past the larger man, and didn't stop once to look back until he reached the old temple two hours later. By that time, day had broken, albeit a cold and wet one. The rain fell steadily, drenching them both. They were without food, bedding, or extra clothing, a loss that would be heavily felt if the man they expected was not waitng for them at the appointed location.

Entering the edifice, Nasir and Agron moved silently, weapons at the ready. Once they had found the room with the main altar, they could see it had been pushed aside, revealing a staircase that descended into the depths below the temple. A dim, orange light emanated from the bottom, likely from torchlight.

Holding out his arm, Agron stopped Nasir from setting foot on the path. He signalled the younger man to take up position behind him, and then with as much stealth as he could manage, began the descent. Moving forward, Agron readied himself for an attack that never came. At the bottom of the stairs, a young man was kneeling on the floor, a lantern set beside him as he chanted lowly. The man was slim, with dark, deep, caramel colored skin. His hair was dark brown and bushy, and his head was bowed, hands clasped and nearly touching his lips.

"Who are you?" Agron asked, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. His chin was lifted in a silent challenge, green eyes narrowed in distrust.

The young man looked up then, his brown eyes fixed on the newcomers. He smiled warmly, and when he did, Agron could see he really wasn't much more than a boy, possibly right around Nasir's age. "Welcome," he spoke to them, arms spread in a non-threatening gesture. "I am Pietros, Initiate to the High Priest Lucius Caelius, who bid me greet your entry into the temple."

Nasir stepped forward and bowed low before the other man. "Gratitude Pietros, I am Nasir, Caster of the First Order, and bane of the Dark Sorceress Ayla. This is my travelling companion and protector, Agron Schild, Warrior of the Elite Guard, and favored son of Master Oenomaus of the Free Realm."

The one called Pietros stepped forward and grasped Nasir's hands in greeting. "This temple has been shrouded by the magic of the High Priest. The spell should last today and tonight, and you wil be safe here until then. There is food, warm shelter, and clothing of different sizes. Apologies, I hope you find something that will fit, as I did not know what sizes you would require. Tomorrow, if you are rested enough, we will make the journey to the Sorceress' stronghold, where there are those loyal to our cause esconced within its walls. They will help you to smuggle yourselves in, and the rest will be up to you. For now, enjoy a meal and rest."

For the first time in weeks, Agron and Nasir would have separate quarters. Pietros bid them come forward to rifle through the garments he had managed to procure for them. Picking through the items, Agron was glad to find a pair or dark green leather breeches and matching jerkin he was certain would fit him. The soft, light brown undershirt would be a tighter fit, but would still do nicely. Once he was done, he moved away to wait at the foot of the stairs, needing to put distance between himself and Nasir. Every time he got too close to the young man, it caused him an actual physical ache in his chest.

Pietros guided the young men back upstairs once Nasir had chosen his items. "These will be your rooms. They are small, but clean, and I have also provided a tub of water if you wish to wash. It will need to be heated, but I assume Nasir will take care of that for you both."

"No," Agron almost shouted. Then in a softer voice, "No, Nasir is likely far too exhausted after our arduous journey. I would prefer you assist me in this."

A strange, confused look passed over Pietros face, and he glanced from one to the other. Nasir stood silently, his eyes fixed on the stone floor. "Of course, Guardsman. This way please." The young man gestured for Agron to follow him, leaving Nasir to his own room. Stepping to the tin, Pietros dipped the tips of his fingers in the cold water, then muttered one word, and soon the water was steaming.

"Is there anything else you require of me, Guardsman?" Pietros asked, inclining his head once.

"No, gratitude," Agron answered. "Wait, yes, I would ask you to drop such formalities. You need not call me Guardsman. My name is Agron."

"Very well, if that is all, I shall leave you to it, Agron. Should you find yourself in need of anything, I shall be under the temple," the boy answered, before retreating from the room.

Now alone, Agron took a look around his room. There was a cot in the corner, the tub of water in the middle, and a table and chair on the opposite wall. A wooden bowl sat on the table with a cloth covering it, which Agron tore off in haste. It had been so long since he had a proper meal. There was dried meat, coarse rolls, and two apples. Set beside the bowl was a metal tankard filled with ale, still chilled by the coldness of the room. Agron didn't even bother to sit down, devouring all the food as he stood there instead.

When he took note of the chair, he saw a large, roughly hewn cloth that was likely meant for him to dry off with, and underneath that, two large blankets. Agron moved the items to the bed, and then lowered himself into the chair. He pulled off his heavy boots, and began to strip himself of his wet clothing. He wondered if perhaps he could ask the young Pietros to use magic and dry the rest of his things out for him.

Walking naked to the tub, Agron carried the empty bowl in hand. He checked the temperature of the water, and finding it satisfactory, slipped into the tub, but not before filling the empty bowl with water and setting it on the floor beside the tub. Agron was forced to tuck his legs in, as the tin was obviously not meant for someone as large as him. He didn't care though, the hot water felt glorious. Agron closed his eyes, allowing the rising steam to waft over his face. He took a few minutes to appreciate the heat, then reached for the small cloth and tiny piece of soap on the lip of the tub.

Agron worked the soap over his body as best he could, watching the dirt and grime of the road slip from him. Bending forward and placing his head between his knees, he wet his hair, then used the last of the soap to lather into his short strands. Standing in the tub, Agron reached down and took the bowl he had filled earlier. Sparingly, he trickled the warm water onto his head, rinsing out the soap with his free hand. It would not do to bathe and leave the scummy water on his body. Next he rinsed his face, neck, and shoulders, lower and lower, until all traces of soap were removed from his skin, which was now a glowing, ruddy, pink from so much scrubbing.

Gingerly, Agron stepped from the tub, the cold stone freezing his bare foot, and making him gasp. He darted for the towel, and wrapped the large cloth around himself. Rubbing at his dripping hair, he dried it as best he could. When he was as dry as he could be, he dove onto the cot, pulling the blankets on top and burrowing down deeply.

Though he had not shared a bedroll with Nasir in days, they had still slept in close proximity to one another; the nature of their mission demanded it. Now with a wall between them, Agron was unable to relax enough to sleep. He entertained the idea of going into the next room to check on Nasir, and an image of Nasir bathing in his own quarters flashed into his mind.

Agron tried to banish the thought, but now that his brain had suggested it, it refused to go. He saw Nasir's naked form, glistening wet, steam drifting all around him. The hands Agron knew wielded powerful magic, likely now stroking taut muscle and tanned skin, haunted Agron's vision.

Bare underneath his blankets, Agron's body responded of its own accord. His long fingers skimmed over the muscle of his inner thigh, sliding closer to his cock. Agron slowly ran his thumb up and down his length, lightly first and then increasing the pressure. The sensation was exquisite, his cock coming to full hardness beneath his own touch.

Finally he could wait no longer, and wrapped his fingers around his engorged, leaking member, the flesh smooth and hot. Using the drops his body released to ease his movements, Agron began to pump his hand up and down his length. He threw his head back and shut his eyes as his breathing sped up. He thought of Nasir, and the morning they had kissed. Agron thought of touching him, of their bodies rocking together, and of Nasir's eyes glassy with desire.

Forcing himself to slow, Agron slid his thumb across the head of his cock, rubbing small circles around it and smearing more of his precome along his member. He imagined it was Nasir's hot, moist tongue sliding along his length, and a gasp escaped him. Agron's hand formed a tight fist once more, his hand jerking up and down at a fast pace.

Bringing his other hand to his mouth, Agron turned his arm and bit into the soft, pale, flesh of his wrist, groaning into it to muffle the sounds. Soon he began thrusting his hips in time with his hand's movements, in his mind's eye thrusting into Nasir's giving mouth. All rational thought fled his mind, even forgetting for the moment to breathe.

Agron's hand pumped harder, and faster, the muscles of his legs stiffening in anticipation and heat gathering low in his abdomen. His hips stuttered, the rhythm he had built up breaking down as his body sought release. Agron thrust up once more, fucking up into his palm, and then held there, cock pulsing, spilling seed over his fingers and onto his stomach. He shuddered once, twice, and then stilled, his lungs sucking in great gasps of air he had denied himself as he came.

"I love you so much, Nasir," Agron whispered to the empty room, admitting out loud for the first time his feelings for the young caster.

Once his breathing had slowed, Agron felt better, a weight lifted from his chest that he had not even known he was carrying. It had felt wonderful to say the words, even if Nasir would never hear them. Already more relaxed than he had felt in ages, Agron slid one arm out of bed and rooted around on the floor for the cloth he had dried off with. His fingers closed around it, still damp, but that would only help his cause. He brought the towel up and used it to wipe the evidence of his passion from his hand and body, then dropped it back onto the stone floor. In less than five minutes, he had fallen to slumber, warmed by thoughts of his love for Nasir.

Sometime around midday, Agron was roused from his sleep by the cold taking hold of his toes. He opened his eyes, blinking sleep away. In vain, he rubbed his feet together, hoping the friction would bring some warmth back into his bed. Agron chastised himself for not thinking to search for undergarments and perhaps some long woolen socks when selecting clothes earlier.  


Pietros had said he would be below the temple though if either of the men needed anything, so Agron rose from the bed and wound one of the blankets around his naked body. Because of his height, the blanket only reached to his knees, leaving his calves exposed to the biting chill. Padding along as quickly and quietly as possible, Agron's feet traced back the way they had come, finding the altar and the stairs easily enough.

One hand trailing along the rough, brick walls, Agron moved noiselessly down the winding staircase, but paused before reaching the last turn. He could hear voices below him, recognizing one of them as Nasir. The other must have belonged to Pietros. Agron was debating whether to make some noise and announce his presence, or ascend the stairs once more and come back later, when he heard his name uttered. Though he knew it was unbecoming to eavesdrop, he could not stop himself and strained his ears to hear the conversation.

"Agron does not yet know. I tried many times, but I could not bring myself to tell him the truth just yet," came Nasir's soft voice.

"It is not my place to tell you what to do, but do you not think he has a right to know what it is that will be asked of him?" was Pietros reply.

There was a pause, a long one, and then Nasir began again. "He lost his brother not long ago. He was a caster, and was felled in battle against the Sorceress' men. How could I tell him he protected me all this way only to watch me die in the Channeling? That the Ancients' power that will course through me will give me the strength needed to defeat Ayla, but will consume me from within?"

"You are in love with him, aren't you?" asked Pietros sympathetically. "That is why you wish to spare him pain?"

"Yes," Nasir lamented. "I love Agron. The morning he kissed me as we lay side by side, I could no longer deny it. My body responded to his touch, and I was ready to give myself to him. I wanted to admit my love for him, and I prayed he would tell me he felt the same way."

"But then, when he said he had longed for me for some time, I knew I could not. As much as I wanted his love, I could not allow it, because in the end, I will only betray him and leave him alone in this world. And it will be worse than when he lost his brother, because I go to my death knowingly, willingly. Agron will think I did not love him enough to stay, and that is not the truth. The truth is something he would never understand. That I do this because I love him. Had I not found him, I wonder if I would have been able to follow through, or would I have turned coward and run from my duty? I do it now gladly, because the end of the Sorceress means the end of the war, and it means safety and a long life for Agron, instead of a death before his time."

The two young men lapsed into silence for a time, and Agron stood on the stairs stunned. Finally, the quiet was broken by Pietros who said softly, "And perhaps the prophecy is wrong. Perhaps it is your love that will protect you and keep you safe as you carry out your purpose. One cannot know all things, Nasir."

Turning back up the stairs, Agron followed the path to his room in a daze. Later, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten to his room, couldn't recall taking the steps the led him back there. All he could think about was the words he had heard Nasir say.

Nasir loved him, was willing to sacrifice his life to keep Agron safe. Agron had loved his brother that way, and he realized now his love for Nasir was of a different sort, but no less great. But that anyone, especially someone as unique and important as Nasir, could love him back had never entered his thoughts. When the caster had broken their embrace that day, when he had pulled away from him, Agron had been upset with himself for having aspired so high. He with his rough ways, and lack of words, could not ever hope to gain the heart of someone as cultured and educated as Nasir.

But Nasir did love him, and wanted to be with him, except none of that mattered because Nasir did not have long in this life. He had distanced himself from Agron for the warrior's own good, never mind the pain it must have caused him to deny his own feelings. No! Agron was not going to let that happen. He would battle the Ancients, the Fates, who ever he need to before he allow them to take rip Nasir from his grasp. He would not lose his heart twice.

Somehow, he managed to sleep the rest of the day away, waking only when Pietros brought him food in the early evening. Agron eyed the bowl hungrily as the initiate laid it out on the table. He almost bolted from bed before remembering he was naked as they day he was born under his thick covers.

Catching his eye, Pietros smiled warmly at him. "Ah, Agron, you are awake. I pray you rested well?"

"Yes," Agron nodded. "Gratitude for the food, it is a kindness much appreciated."

"Please, dress and eat at your leisure. I will await both you and Nasir in the chapel. We have much to discuss." Pietros bowed his head once, then retreated from the room, leaving Agron alone to ready himself for the coming night.

The tall warrior dressed in his newly acquired garments, the soft, supple, leather clinging to his skin. Leaving the jerkin off for now, Agron sat at his chair to partake of the meal, which consisted of some type of porridge, with a few blueberries dotted on top of it. It was sweet, and delicious and Agron closed his eyes to savor the taste. There was toasted bread with a jam spread over it, and a strong cup of black, rich coffee. It was the most sumptuous meal Agron could ever remember eating, and he relished every mouthful.

When he could delay no longer, Agron rose and threw his cloak about his shoulders, pleasantly surprised it had dried out so well. He fastened his belt around his trim waist, and slid his sword into its sheath, then took hold of his shield and slipped from his room.

Agron swiftly walked to the chapel, where Pietros and Nasir sat in one of the pews, deep in discussion. Upon reaching them, Agron bowed low, displaying what he hoped were his most courtly manners. "Pietros, Nasir, good evening," he announced.

"Thank you for joining us," said Pietros, while Nasir remained stubbornly silent. "We have preparations to make. You may stay the night here, and then tomorrow in the morning, you must be off."

For the next few hours, the three men went over every detail of the plan, any possible contingency they might be faced with. Pietros had produced a map of the stronghold, and they all peered over it, seeking out the easiest entrances and exits, and which hallways would take them where they needed to go. The young initiate also described the gatekeeper they would need to seek out, the one that would allow them to pass through the checkpoint unmolested.

"This one here," Agron said, pointing his finger and touching it to the map at the same moment Nasir did. Their fingers accidentally brushed together. Two sets of eyes snapped up to meet, Agron's green ones cautiously optimistic, and Nasir's brown, wide and slightly alarmed. Then Nasir looked away and the moments was broken, but Agron was overjoyed. He had been trying relentlessly to catch the younger man's eye, but had until then failed. Looking to Pietros, the warrior saw a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Soon, the men had had enough of talking, and they were all eager to stand and stretch their muscles. Pietros had a suggestion, and hoped the two men he had just met would be agreeable to it.

"There is a large barn behind the temple, where beasts of burden used to be kept. It is empty now, but it would serve you well should you wish to practice combat. I for one am anxious to see the great caster and his warrior in action."

Agron beamed at the younger man, and was already saying, "We would very much enjoy that," before Nasir could even answer. "If you would allow me to change into my old clothes, I will join you shortly. I am growing attached to these new ones and wish to keep them in good condition," he finished, knowing the new attire hugged his body tightly, showing off all he had to offer and leaving very little to the imagination.

With a final bow, he strode from the chapel and back to his rooms to pull on his old, worn, clothing. As he walked away he heard Nasir muttering to Pietros, "And he is not my warrior!" Agron only chuckled low in his throat and hastened his pace.

Try as they might though, Agron and Nasir could not get back the coordination they had achieved before things had gone wrong between them. Either they strayed too far from one another, or were overcompensating and pushing and shoving to keep the other from harm. Growling in frustration, Agron hip checked Nasir, knocking him to the ground to deflect the sword of one of the holos Pietros had created for them to spar against. Moments later, one of the simulated casters was readying to shoot a frost spell at Agron when Nasir hissed and conjured a shield spell, but missed his mark and created it too close, blasting Agron backwards where he collided with the barn door.

"No, no, no!'' Pietros shouted at them as Agron stumbled to his feet. "If that is the best you can offer the realm, I fear the Sorceress will never be defeated."  


Nasir scowled at him, while Agron braced himself against the door, rubbing at the back of his head. "Would you care to go a round?" Nasir asked haughtily, gesturing with his chin to Pietros, who unexpectedly, smiled widely and nodded his head.

Stalking off to the side, Nasir began casting and creating holos for Agron and Pietros to fight against. He watched as the two men moved, positioned themselves back to back and started rotating on the spot, waiting for the attacks to commence. It wasn't long before the spells were being fired, the strikes hitting home, the holos disintegrating with each successful move the pair made. True, they did not move as fluidly as Agron and Nasir had in the beginning, but their compatibiliy was still high enough to make them victorious, with neither of them hitting the ground this time, and Nasir could not help but feel a little bit jealous.

"Gratitude for the lesson," Nasir snapped. "Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry and tired, and I think it's time Agron and I rest again."

"Certainly," answered Pietros, not even slightly winded from his exertion. "I will have your food brought to your rooms, and will refill the water tubs for you as well."

"There was no reason to be so rude," Agron mumbled to Nasir as they made their way back into the temple. ''Pietros was only trying to help us."

"If you're so comfortable with Pietros, why don't you take him to fight the Sorceress? Oh, apologies, I forgot, you can't, because that task belongs to me alone," spat Nasir as he slammed his door in Agron's face.

It was nearly midnight when Pietros returned with Agron's dinner, some type of rough bread with thin slices of meat layered between the pieces, a light golden brown sauce covering the meat. Agron ate his fill and did not even notice when Pietros levitated a tub full of water into the room. He did see when the young man heated it for him once more, and thanked the boy properly.

After bathing relatively quickly, Agron lay in bed making every effort to fall asleep. His rest was fitful, thoughts and images of Nasir invading his mind, taunting him, leaving him shaking with desire. Eventually, he stopped fighting, and decided he would make one last attempt with Nasir. He was going to go to he boy, and tell him how he felt, and tell him that he had no intention of letting him die. Agron knew he would die fighting beside Nasir if it came to that, and they would not be parted long. Perhaps Duro would even be waiting for them when they left the world, greeting them with open arms and hearty laughter.

Wrapping the blanket around himself again, Agron's feet glided along the cold, rock, floor, ducking from his room to stand in front of Nasir's door. He raised his hand to the door and rapped his knuckles on it gently, calling out softly, "Nasir?" Receiving no reply, Agron wondered if maybe the young man were with Pietros once again. He decided to knock one more time before going off to search for him somewhere else.

"Nasir, are you there?" Agron asked as he knocked louder this time.

"Go away, Agron," came Nasir's muffled response.

"No, let me in. I have to see you."

The bolt on the door clicked open, and Agron knew Nasir had magicked it unlocked from his spot in his bed. The warrior pushed into the room, spotting the bed near a small window, moonlight spilling across Nasir's hair. He crossed the room slowly, feeling the swell of emotion and need build within him.

Stopping at the bedside, Agron looked down into Nasir's wide eyes, and began speaking from the heart, "I love you, Nasir. I cannot keep hiding it, or pretending that I don't. And I know you feel the same way about me. I do not know or care what the future holds, but I do care about the man in front of me now, and I know I cannot live another moment without him by my side," he finished.

"I'm frightened," Nasir whispered into the darkness, his eyes shining with tears ready to spill.

"As long as we are together, you never need be scared again," said Agron huskily as he lifted Nasir's blankets and slid into the bed with him. His large hand reached out to touch Nasir's hair, and the scent of the rose oil was intoxicating. His long fingers caressed the silken strands, softer even than he had remembered them. His other hand slid up to cup Nasir's cheek in his palm, and the younger man leaned into the touch.

"It's all right," Agron murmured, "Do not be afraid. I love you more than you could possibly know."  


Nasir lifted a trembling hand and traced his fingers over Agron's handsome face. Over his eyebrows, down his straight, perfect nose, and slowly trailed the finger across his pink lips. "You are so beautiful, Agron," he whispered.

And then Agron tangled his fist into a large handful of Nasir's long hair, and gently tugged his face closer, and Nasir knew what was coming next. Then their lips were meeting and the threshold had been crossed and Nasir swore this time he would not stop it.

The kiss was warm, and beautiful and so intimate. The barriers between them shattered, and they were once again in sync, a true dyad in every sense of the word.

Agron felt Nasir's wiry arms slide around his back, felt his hands touching, stroking, scratching at his shoulders. Nasir's mouth tasted of sweet cream, and Agron smiled into the kiss, knowing of Nasir's fondness for sweet things. His tongue darted in and out of the sweet cavern, fucking Nasir's mouth with his tongue before pushing the smaller man down on his back.  
Nasir moved his hands forward again, and ran them up and down Agron's muscular, smooth, chest, down the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, then back up again and pinching his hardened nipples gently. Agron broke the kiss and gasped, his breath catching in his throat. The expression of ecstasy on the warrior's face pushed Nasir over the edge, and he gave up on thinking, abandoning himself to the moment.

When Agron lowered his head to Nasir's neck to nip at the skin, Nasir moaned softly, lost to sensation. He loved how Agron seemed to know just where to touch him to elicit the most pleasurable responses, as though they had been made one for the other, and no one else.

Agron's hard cock was pressed against Nasir's thigh, who realized he was hard already as well. They were both naked, skin on skin, and Nasir bucked his hips sharply, letting Agron feel he was just as wild with desire as the warrior was.

The hand that had been touching Nasir's cheek slid down to his mouth instead, his fingers probing insistently. Nasir opened his mouth gladly and Agron slid two of his fingers inside. Nasir hollowed his cheeks and sucked on those digits, and Agron growled at the vision. His cock was throbbing and already leaking drops of clear liquid. He was so aroused, he worried he might come just from looking at Nasir sucking on his fingers, and he forced himself to look down and away. That brought his eyes to Nasir's erect cock, and Agron couldn't wait a moment longer.

Sliding his fingers from Nasir's mouth, he moved his body down, bent over his lover's small form. Agron used his large, powerful hands to pin Nasir's hips to the mattress, and then lowered his mouth to kiss Nasir's cock, licking up the underside, and then taking the head into his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he began bobbing his head up and down, each time taking a bit more of Nasir's length in.

After a few moments, Nasir began making the most delicious, little mewling noises. He threw his head back against the feather pillow, unable to keep himself from bucking up, thrusting, fucking into Agron's hot, wet mouth. His cock hit the back of Agron's throat, who didn't pause one second in his service. Instead the larger men sped up, his head bobbing at a frantic pace, nose burying itself repeatedly in the curls at the base of Nasir's member.

Nasir felt himself losing control, his fingers tightening in Agron's hair, guiding his movements. His moaning grew louder, and more erratic and he knew he was close. "Wait, Agron, stop," he said, not wanting to take pleasure and not give any in return.

The taller man though did not heed the warning. He was drunk on Nasir's cries of pleasure, on the fact that it was him wringing those sounds from that usually quiet mouth. Agron moaned around Nasir's cock, and that was all it took. Swells of pleasure shook the small body, and the warm, salted taste of come washed over Agron's tongue and down his throat. He swallowed every drop, not wanting to waste a bit of it, his mouth fucking Nasir through his orgasm.

Releasing Nasir, Agron pressed kisses to the bones of his slim hips, then up his stomach to his chest, leaving a wet trail in his wake. His target was Nasir's mouth and when he reached it, he bit down on that full, bottom lip, making Nasir groan out loud.

The young man parted his thighs, wound his fingers around the leather cords Agron wore about his neck, and pulled him close. Agron was still achingly hard, and he began rutting against Nasir shamelessly. The slighter man lifted his head from the bed and placed his lips to Agron's earlobe. "I would have you inside me, warrior," he purred. With a flick of his wrist he called forth his treausred bottle of rose oil, pressing it into the other man's palm.

Agron took the hint, and uncorked the bottle to drizzle some over his fingertips. One long, thick, finger pressed against Nasir's tight, puckered opening. Tortuously slowly, Agron began rubbing small, massaging circles around the ring, finger darting up to slide against the sensitive skin of Nasir's perineum. After Nasir's hips began to buck involuntarily, Agron pushed his finger in, past the clenched ring of muscle, into a searing, tight, channel and slid it in and out.

Nasir hooked his leg over Agron's shoulder as the taller man slid down his body. Agron became fascinated watching his appear and then disappear inside his lover's body, until Nasir finally was forced, to beg, "Agron, please, more.''

Nodding, Agron licked his lips, and worked his thick, middle finger into Nasir, sliding them in and out until the younger man got used to the burn, then scissoring them gently, loosening him further.  


Nasir hissed, and Agron slowed his hand. "Does it hurt?"

"No, I need more." Agron complied, and added a third finger, flexing and curling. His fingertips brushed against the bundle of nerves deep within his lover, and Nasir arched his back and keened. He ground down onto Agron's hand, seeking more contact, desperate for the touch to repeat. Agron grinned, watching Nasir as he chewed on his lip.

"Are you ready, love?" Agron asked seductively, the need evident in his voice.

"Gods, yes, now Agron!" he cried.

Agron pulled his fingers from Nasir's body, making an obscene squelching sound that had them both shuddering. He slithered up the small body beneath him, holding Nasir's thighs up and apart . Positioning himself above Nasir, Agron allowed his eyes to graze over the perfect, enticing body, before pushing into him in one slick, fluid movement. The feeling was more glorious then either man could have imagined, and for a few seconds they were both lost.

Nasir adjusted to the stretch soon, and began to squirm beneath the large man. Agron took it as his signal to move, and began to slide in and out of Nasir's body, amazed at the heat and tightness. Wanting to prolong the moment, Agron's slipped his cock almost completely out of Nasir's hole, leaving only the head inside. He gave a few short, shallow thrusts, Nasir whining beneath him, trying  
in vain to bear down and take in more of Agron's long, thick, shaft. He was pinned by Agron's strong hands on his hips, keeping him from moving as he desired.

"Fuck, Agron, stop teasing me!' he shouted, as one hand reached up to pinch a small, brown, nipple, the other snaking down to slowly stroke himself. Agron could not stop the low, dirty groan from releasing itself, and he began to pound into Nasir, faster and harder. He angled his cock to hit Nasir's prostate with every pump of his hips, and the younger man's wide eyes stared into who knows what, his pupils blown so wide his eyes were nearly black.

The slim boy bit his lip hard, and came with a cry of Agron's name, one hand fisted into the sweat soaked linens beneath him. Greedily, Agron dropped his hand to scoop up some of the spilled seed, and lick it from his fingers as he chased his own climax. Within seconds, Agron was coming, his breath being released in a huff across Nasir's beautiful mouth, filling the small body with his come, fingers tighening on the smaller man's hips enough to leave marks.

Agron collapsed forward onto Nasir, his elbows barely able to support his weight. Too tired and breathless to speak, he leaned his head down and kissed the tip of his lover's nose, his closed eyelids, and finally his lips. Nasir's hair was spread out in a messy halo on the bed, and Agron lifted his hand and combed his fingers through it roughly. Gently, he slipped free of Nasir's body and dropped like a stone into the space beside him.

"Do you love me?" Agron whispered to the darkness.

"Yes, my warrior, I love you. For the rest of my life, I will love only you," came Nasir's response, tinged with sorrow.

"Then there is nothing to fear, or to be sad about. I promise you, I won't let anything come between us. Even Death should fear my wrath should it try and separate us."Agron meant his words, and though he wasn't sure how yet, he knew he wouldn't allow Nasir to be taken from him.

Reaching over the side of the bed, Agron pulled up the blanket he had dropped on the floor, and wiped their bodies clean of any evidence of their coupling, then kissed Nasir's cheek once before moving to slip out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Nasir asked him sleepily.

"Back to my own room," Agron said softly. "I assumed you would not want Pietros to know what had passed between us. Now go to sleep, little man."

"No, stay. It matters not to me who knows, and I believe in any case, that Pietros would be happy for us."

Smiling, Agron buried himself in the warmth of Nasir's bed, curling his body around him. He pressed a kiss to the back of Nasir's head, and hugged him close, sleep already threatening to claim him for the night. Just before he dropped off, he heard Nasir mumble almost unintelligibly, "And don't call me 'little man'."  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the morning, Nasir woke to a cold and empty bed. For a moment he thought the previous night had been nothing more then a bittersweet dream and his heart sank. Then he heard a voice say good morning to him, and he turned to see Agron pulling on his boots.

"How long have you been awake?" the younger man asked cautiously.

"Only an hour or so," Agron answered. He stood, and Nasir let his eyes roam hungrily over the towering, imposing figure Agron made. The new leathers were like a second skin, embracing Agron's perfect form delectably. "I aided Pietros in preparing the morning meal. Eat, and dress, and meet us outside."  


Before ducking out the door, Agron leaned over the bed and kissed Nasir full on the lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and holding it there until Nasir moaned softly. Chuckling, Agron pulled away and smiled as he walked to the door.

"You are a horrible tease, you know that?" Nasir called loudly, and he heard Agron's answering laughter echoing around the corner.

As much as he wanted to stay lounging in bed, Nasir knew he could delay the final leg of his mission no longer. He wasted no more time, and dressed as fast as possible, inhaling his food as he did. Nasir looked back at the bed one last time, the place where he and Agron had found each other. He had no regrets. His heart and his body already belonged to Agron; it was only right he allowed Agron to have him.

Out in the yard, Agron was standing next to Pietros, a pack strapped to his shoulders, head bent low in hushed conversation with the young Initiate. Agron was nodding vigorously, eyes narrowed in concentration, listening intently. Nasir was too far away to hear the words being exchanged, and as soon the men noticed him approaching, the conversation ceased, and they drew apart.

"You are ready, then?" Pietros asked, smiling at Nasir. He held out both hands to Nasir, who clasped them tightly and smiled back.

"Yes, it is time. Gratitude for all that you have done."

"No, it is I who must thank you for what you will do tonight. Would that I could offer more aid. I have done all that I can though, and there is food in each of your packs. Agron has a pouch with three healing crystals, though I pray you have no need of them. I am sorry you will have to leave your weapons and armor, but you will never be granted entrance to the city while you carry them. If all goes as it should, you will be able to find more inside the citadel."

Tears sprang to Nasir eyes, and he released Pietros' hands so that he could wipe them away. He did not trust his voice to speak, so he nodded and smiled again instead, hoping his eyes could convey how grateful he was.

Pietros then turned to Agron, who reached out his right arm to clasp the younger man's, and then pulled him into a brotherly embrace. "Fare you well, Pietros. If the Ancients will it, we will see you again."

"Fare you well, Guardsman. Remember my words, and do not give up hope. The furture is not set in stone, and there is always a way. It is up to you to find it."  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The trip to the stronghold did not take long, and in a matter of hours, Agron and Nasir had arrived at the gates. The taller man searched the gatekeepers for the one that had been described to him by Pietros. The man's name was Barca, and they would note him by his uncommon height and his long, plaited hair.

"There he is," Agron said, indicating the man with a nod of his head. Nasir followed Agron's eyes and beheld Barca for the first time. He was taller even than Nasir had expected, thin, but well built, and carried a shield and staff. His eyes were hard as he stopped and questioned the people seeking entrance to the town.

Motioning for Nasir to follow him, Agron joined the throng of people waiting to get inside. The clamor and din that could usually be heard from inside of any town was absent. Agron was tall enough to see over the heads of the people in front of them, and he was shocked at what his eyes beheld. The people inside the square moved about silently, making their purchases from the various stalls hastily and then moving off with, their footsteps shambling. All of them kept their heads down, never looking anyone in the eye lest they draw attention to themselves. No one wanted to be singled out as the next victim of the Sorceress' brutality.

"What do you see?" Nasir mumbled, loud enough only for Agron to hear.

"You will see it soon enough, but it is not a pretty sight.''

Soon the men reached the front of the queue, and found themselves standing beneath Barca's stern gaze. The man looked them up and down, deciding if these newcomers meant trouble or not. His eyes fell upon Agron's wrist, and widened for a moment. Nasir took a close look and only then noticed Agron wore a frayed red fabric wrapped around his left vambrace, tied in place with a lover's knot. Barca's eyes softened, but his voice when he spoke was churlish.

"State your business!"

"My friend and I have heard the goats raised here produce the sweetest milk in all the realm, praise be to the Sorceress." Agron answered smoothly.

Nothing could be further from the truth. The goats raised in the Sorceress' village were a sorry lot, never being allowed to grow enough before being taken for consumption by the army.

"Anything to declare?" Barca snapped at them.

Both men shook their heads in the negative, and Barca nodded at them and waved them through. "You should try the tavern while you're here," he called after them. Neither Agron nor Nasir gave any indication they had heard him, but the message had been received.

The tavern was dimly lit, and smelled of piss and blood. The patrons were surly, foul tempered men, the serving wenches drab and frightened looking things. Agron took a table set against the far wall, then sat himself facing the door. One of the first things he had been taught in the Elite Guard was never to put your back to the entrance.

Holding up two fingers, Agron motioned the serving girl for two mugs of ale, which were lukewarm and tasted sour, as though the brew had turned in its barrel. He and Nasir pretended to drink, but kept vigilant, watching the customers come and go.

In the early evening, the door to the tavern swung open and Barca the gatekeeper strode in. He stopped at the bar and ordered a cup of wine, then chose a table next to the one Agron and Nasir were seated at. He sipped his wine slowly, and finally, spoke in a low rumble.

"You will follow me out, and I will get you to a side entrance. The scullery maid who opens the door will hide you until midnight, and then show you the way to the Sorceress' chambers." Draining his wine in a long gulp, Barca set his cup down, dropped a few coins on the table, and headed for the door.

Agron gave a sixty second count before rising and placing coin for the ale down, and he and Nasir stepped out the door into the cool evening air. The area was deserted and Agron was beginning to feel uneasy, when they heard a whistle. They rounded the building and found Barca, who waved his hand at them and hissed, "This way!"

The sun was rapidly settling, and Barca kept to the shadows, leading them further toward the castle. He whispered urgently to them as they made the trek. "The maid is called Aurelia. She is young, and pale of skin. Speak the name Varro to her, and she will know who you are."

Sooner than expected, the three men had reached the entrance. "Luck be with you, and may the Ancients look favorably upon your endeavor," Barca said while he knocked four times on the heavy, wooden door.

"Grattitude for your aid," Nasir thanked the man, and clasped his hands in a farewell gesture.

"No need to thank me," Barca replied gruffly. "The Sorceress Ayla has caused the deaths of countless dear friends. I have hoped for this day for many years, boy. Now I must go, or I will be missed."

With that, Barca sprinted away, melting into the darkness and leaving Agron and Nasir standing alone. Agron shrugged, and knocked four times as he had seen Barca do. A moment later, the heavy door creaked open, and a tiny, but lovely, girl peered out at them. Nasir was reminded of a fragile, porcelain doll when he looked at her.

"In whose name do you come?" the girl asked softly.

"In Varro's name," answered the warrior.

"Then move, quickly," she whispered, and pulled the door open the rest of the way. "Come, before we are seen."

The pair followed Aurelia, who led them up a back staircase, and to a storage room on the third floor. She ushered them in and shut the door behind her, pressed her palm to the handle, muttering a few words.

Nasir smiled, his full lips stretched widely. His eyes shone in the darkness, and he spoke to her in awe, "You're a caster as well?"

Aurelia nodded. "Yes, but I am ashamed to say I never developed my skills. I know only the most rudimentary of spells, and I could not cast an attack spell to save my life. Or my husband's," she finished sadly.

"Varro?" Agron questioned sympathetically.

"It is a long story that I do not wish to go into, but he was part of the resistance, and he died by the Sorceress' own hand. I hate her, and I hope you kill her this night," Aurelia answered vehemently.

The three exchanged a few more words, and then Aurelia left them, promising to come back after midnight. Nasir and Agron sat and held each other in the dark, knowing they didn't have more than a couple of hours until they would face off against the Sorceress. Agron comforted Nasir as best he could, promising him over and over again that somehow, things would be fine. They would do their job, and then leave together.

Deep down, Agron wasn't so certain, but he would never tell Nasir that. Besides, even if the worst happened, he promised himself the man he loved would not have to wait long for Agron to join him. If they failed, he couldn't allow himself to be taken alive and would fight them until his last breath.

He let Nasir nap, enjoying the feel of his warm breaths puffing against his chest. Agron stroked the younger man's long, dark, hair, letting the delicate strands slide through his fingers. The rose oil turned the tresses to perfumed gossamer, and Agron breathed it in, committing the scent to memory.

Much too soon, Aurelia returned, and it was time to go. "Trust in the power of the Ancients, and you will succeed." The young woman smiled at them warmly; then her eyes turned hard. "Kill the bitch," she snarled.

"You have our word, Lady Aurelia, and our thanks," Agron vowed to her before following her out into the dark corridor.

There were guards stationed at the beginning of the hallway that led to the Sorceress' chambers. Nasir took care of them with a simple sleeping spell. They would have clattered to the ground, their armor causing a racket had they boy not been quick with a silence spell to muffle the sounds.

Agron stripped one of the men of his armor and weapons. "How long will they be out?" he asked Nasir as he fastened the spaulders in place.

"Twelve hours at least. More than enough time for things to be finished, one way or the other."

Nodding goodbye to Aurelia, the men sprinted down the hall, coming to a stop in front of a set of enormous, ornate double doors. Nasir placed his hand on the doorknobs, but Agron reached out and grabbed one of his wrists. The younger man turned with a questioning look, and felt Agron's arm slip around his waist.

The warrior pulled Nasir close to him, claiming his lips in a fiery kiss, tongue exploring the hot, sweet cavern of Nasir's mouth. Breaking apart, Agron whispered in Nasir's ear, "Stay with me, love." Then the older man grasped the knobs and turned, pushing the door open as carefully as he could.

The inside of the room was huge. Bookshelved lined one wall, with a chair and small table placed nearby. On the other side were tables covered with vials, bottles, and pouches.

At the far end of the room, opposite the door situated near the balcony window, was a grand, four poster bed with a black canopy covering it. The frame was made of metal, the tops of the columns sharpened to wicked looking points, red paint running down from the tips to resemble dripping blood. The men needed to move closer to discern them, because etched into the metal of the footboard were a series of grotesque, hellish images.

There were men and women being flayed alive, or impaled on thick, sharp, pikes, the points exiting through their open mouths. Others still were being torn to shreds by feral, ravenous beasts, entrails being gnawed on while their wide, bulging eyes looked on in terror.

Nasir shuddered, bile rising in his throat at the scenes being depicted. He looked to Agron, who was taking in the horrific images, his mouth pressed in a tight, angry line. The warrior motioned Nasir to move forward, stopping at the side of the bed.

Nasir drew back the curtains with one hand, Agron at his side, sword drawn. Looking down, they could see the Sorceress sleeping on her back. She was beautiful - fine, delicate features and pale, moon kissed skin. The tops of her full, heavy breasts rose and fell gently with each breath.

The men waited for a reaction, but received none. Agron grinned at his lover. Would it really be so easy? Raising his sword with two hands, he took a deep breath and plunged it into her body, aiming for her ruined heart.

Sorceress Ayla's eyes opened, silver and hard, and her mouth exploded in a silent scream, black, tar-like blood bubbling from her chest and open mouth. The witch's back arched, and she writhed on the mattress, clawing at the sword still embedded in her body. A choked, gurgling sound escaped her and she went still.

Agron removed his sword, tugging to free it, the dark, viscous blood holding it fast. His green eyes were bright and wild, and he laughed. The sound was infectious, and Nasir laughed with him.

"So, you've finally come, little one. Did you really think it would take so little effort to see me dead?" The Sorceress' voice was taunting, and deadly, and it made the lovers' blood run cold.

Agron's head whipped around for the source of the words, and his eyes came to rest upon the Dark Sorceress Ayla, seated on the ledge at her great window. Her long legs were crossed in front of her, hands braced on the ledge by her thighs.

"Why don't you renounce this foolish mission, warrior?" she asked Agron coyly. "You could be my, oh, I don't know, High Protector. How does that sound?"

Agron curled his lip at the Sorceress, his eyes full of disdain.

"I assure you, warrior, I can be very, very grateful," the Dark Sorceress cooed.

"My place is with Nasir. And make no mistake, tonight you go to your death," Agron swore.

"Have it your way," the Sorceress snapped before disappearing.

Sensing the spell before it was cast, Agron raised his shield behind him to deflect, completing the move just in time. Nasir, meanwhile, had sent a flare spell in the witch's direction, who did not quite manage to move out of the way in time. The hem of her dress caught fire, forcing her to douse it with a water spell of her own.

"Agron!" Nasir shouted, casting a frost spell at one of the thin, metal posts on the bed, freezing it and turning it brittle.

The tall warrior understood, and swung his sword at the post, breaking it clean in two, and tossing it to Nasir. The young man caught it one handed, twirled it a few times to get the feel, and then took up an attack position.

The two young men began an intricate dance around the Dark Sorceress, never allowing her to gain an advantage. Their movements flowed smoothly, no hesitation in their steps, never having to question who would be where or when or what they would be doing. They were a true dyad, perfectly matched, as it was always fated to be.

Laughing psychotically, the Sorceress jeered at them. "Is this the best the Elite Guard could muster to fight me?" She levitated off the floor, and spun, one, two, three, quick revolutions.

Nasir felt himself pushed back, and looked for Agron. Unnoticed by both Nasir and the Sorceress, Agron had managed to sneak around her while she did her spinning move. As soon as her feet touched the floor, the warrior renewed his assault, blade slicing through the air towads her.

"The Elite Guard didn't send us," Agron shot at her, bloodthirsty grin on his face, his teeth flashing bright in the moonlight. "We come of our own free will."

Then both men moved as one, Nasir dancing, spinning, jumping with his magic and his makeshift spear, Agron advancing, striking and slashing with his sword, swiping and smashing with his shield.

The Sorceress was forced to do nothing but defend. Everytime she attempted to launch an attack at one of them, she was met with an assault from the other.

Neither man could tell how long the battle lasted. It seemed to go on forever, but surely it couldn't have been that long because they weren't the least bit tired. Nasir's spells only grew stronger, causing more damage each time one hit, Agron's blows more powerful. More than once, his blade made contact with her body, and soon she was weeping black blood from multudinous wounds.

Screaming in frustration, the Sorceress found herself backed close to the window. She must have known she was losing, because she began shouting for her guards, but if she expected that to scare her attackers, she was sorely mistaken.

Renewing their onslaught with even more fervor than before, the men circled and hit, their movements never ceasing. They could tell she was tiring, and victory was within their grasp. Agron took a chance and ducked under a spell, which put him toe to toe with the witch. With a grunt, he put all his strength into a strike, and plunged the sword straight into her abdomen.

The Dark Sorceress wailed in agony, her eyes wide in disbelief, and she fell to her knees. Her head hung down, chin resting on her chest. Long, wild, silvery hair obscured her face, her pained smile hidden from view, teeth sticky with blood.

"Do it, Nasir," Agron was saying. "Send this bitch to her death, for all the hurt she's caused. For my brother, and everyone else she's hurt and killed."

They never saw the blade she conjured from thin air, and when Nasir closed his eyes, focusing his strength and his magic in a death spell, the Sorceress struck. Her arm jabbed upward, catching Agron in a spot just above his heart, driving in deep.

Mouth open in a gasp of surprise, Agron looked down and then up, several times in succession. The warrior felt the blade buried deep within the muscle and bone tissue, yet he was still disbelieving.

At the same time Nasir cried out his lover's name, the Sorceress yanked her blade from Agron's body and shot a thrust spell at the warrior. He flew back several meters, the air leaving his lungs in a huff when his back hit the ground. Tendrils of scorching pain radiated out from the wound, the skin around it turning a sickly, mottled green beneath Agron's clothing.

Nasir looked to the blade that dripped a thin, green venom. He swiftly sent a flare spell towards it, causing it to heat to an unbearable level, forcing the Sorceress to fling it away with a wail.  
Helping Agron would do them no good if the Sorceress killed them both. Nasir had to complete his mission. First he magicked the doors shut, sealing them completely to keep the Sorceress' men from entering the room. Spreading his arms wide, throwing his head back, Nasir repeated the incantation in his mind - the one that would allow him to channel the magic of the Ancients and bring about the destruction of the Dark Sorceress.

At once, he began to feel the magic building within his veins, flowing through to every part of his body. The power was unfathomable, bottomless, giving Nasir a feeling of near invincibility.  
Agron watched from his spot on the floor, vision cloudy with pain, the poison from the Sorceress' blade moving through him, paralyzing him, muscles in spasms, and breathing erratic. The warrior could see Nasir's eyes begin to glow, beginning to lose control of the raw energy. He tried desperately to get his voice to work, his throat to open, force his teeth to unclench.

From far away, the warrior could hear the Dark Sorceress screeching, hurling threats and obscenities at Nasir. He wished he could speak, to tell Nasir how much he loved him, and how sorry he was he hadn't been able to protect him. Agron wanted to tell Nasir that it was all right, that he would be waiting for him on the other side of the veil, but the darkness was pressing in on him, and Agron gave in to it.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Opening his eyes, Agron Schild was surrounded by a thick fog. The ground beneath his back was soft, springy, and slightly damp, like fresh grass covered in dewdrops. Fog coiled about his body, and he was unable to see more than a couple of meters in front of him.

Disoriented, Agron could feel himself beginning to panic. Slowly he pushed himself up, his shoulder crying out in protest as he did. Pressing his palm to the tender flesh, Agron felt a throbbing ache that shot threads of pain down his arm and across his chest.

"You don't have much time to find him, brother," came a familiar voice than caused Agron's heart to stutter, and his breathing to catch. It was a voice he had heard beside him all his life, trailing his every step. Duro's voice.

Ignoring the pain, Agron clambered to his feet clumsily. The fog was everywhere, obscuring his vision and Agron cursed loudly.

"Make haste, brother. He will not last much longer."

"Duro! Brother! I can't find you!" Agron shouted in a broken voice. His chest began to heave, the sobs building inside and leaving no room for air. This pain was greater than being stabbed with a poisoned blade.

"I'm right here, brother."

Agron spun around, not expecting to see anything. Except, there was Duro, standing in front of him, whole and hale, dark curls falling into his eyes, and a wide smile on his face. The elder brother reached out a tentative hand, fingers pressing lightly to Duro's cheek. When his fingers connected with solid flesh instead of thin air, Agron groaned and nearly collapsed.

Duro caught Agron by his elbows, chuckling as he did. "Are you a blushing, innocent maiden who faints at the first touch from a handsome man with a winning smile?"

"Fuck, Duro, how is this happening? I'm dead, aren't I?

Duro laughed. "No, I was wrong. You must be my ever so dim, warrior of a brother." Shaking Agron slightly, Duro forced his brother to look at him. "You're not dead, you lumbering oaf. Not yet anyway. Would that we had more time together, but you must go back."

"Go back? To what? I have failed someone that I love, just as I failed you. I was no match for the Dark Sorceress, and it has cost me the life of someone very dear to me."

Rolling his eyes, Duro tried again. "Of course you were no match for her, brother. That was not your fate. Now, we are running out of time. Your little man is fading, and we can save him, and you as well, if you wish it."

Agron struggled to speak. There were so many emotions warring within him - pain, anger, sadness, hope, love, joy. "How?" was all he could manage.

"I was a caster in life, and though my physical form is long since gone, my magic remains, until I choose to move on. Where else would I stay but with you? Do you want my help or not?"

In a small, unsure, gesture, Agron nodded his acquiesence. He felt Duro clasp their hands together, before he was moving through space, or was it time? Agron did not know, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. Shutting his eyes tight against the barrage of images, he concentrated on not losing his grip on Duro's warm hand, until, just as violently as it had begun, their movement ceased.

A wave of nausea rose up within him, and Agron forced himself to calm down, letting his mind go blank for a few moments to stamp down the feeling. Opening his eyes, he could just make out Nasir's still form on the ground a few meters away from him. Agron tugged Duro along after him and towards his love, the younger man squawking in indignation behind him.

"Nasir!'' the warrior cried in anguish, his lover small, pale and unmoving in the grass. Agron ran his hands over Nasir's cold cheeks, through his hair, and down the rest of his body. "I can find no wound. What is wrong with him, brother?"

Duro sighed sadly. "The power of the Ancients was too much for him. He wielded it successfully, but the price will be his life if he isn't helped." Watching Agron from behind sad eyes, Duro placed his hand on his brother's wounded shoulder, and knelt down beside him. His other hand he placed on Nasir's chest, then closed his eyes and spoke a healing spell.

Agron was suffused with a gentle and comforting warmth, and he felt as though he were floating in a lake at the height of summer. A golden brilliance emanated from Duro's palms, and Agron watched in awe as his brother worked. Too late, he realized what the healing spell meant; that he would be leaving this place without Duro.

"No, stop, Duro," he tried to say, but though his lips moved his voice remained locked inside himself. Tears sprang to Agron eyes, and he fought against his brother's hand. Duro looked at him then, eyes shining with the power of his magic, and smiled softly at his brother.

"You must go back, brother. There is yet work for you and your beloved to finish."

Feeling himself losing his connection to Duro, Agron managed to rasp, "Forgive me, little brother, for not saving you."

''You never failed me, Agron. My path was always fated to be shorter than yours. You needed to walk alone so that you might find your other half. When your time comes, I'll be here again to greet you. Until then, brother," Duro leaned forward to press a kiss to Agron's forehead, a mirror of a gesture from a time not too long past.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Epilogue - Six Months Later

Agron and Nasir stood outside the oaken, double doors of the grand hall. Inside, everyone they knew was gathered, waiting for the pair to make their entrance. Looking over at the warrior, Nasir noted he was fiddling with the buckles on his waistcoat. With a smile, Nasir reached over and took Agron's hand in his own, his thumb rubbing small, comforting, circles into the larger man's palm.

Grateful, Agron glanced over to his lover, and gave a nervous grin. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not used to all this finery, I suppose. I'd trade all this silk and brocade for leather and chain mail any day."

Nasir laughed. "Leather and chain mail? On a day like this one? With any luck, this will be the only time in our lives we shall do this, so we surely must do it right."

"You're right, as always, love," Agron answered with a groan.

Both men were quiet for a few moments, until Nasir asked in a quiet voice, "Are you ready?"

"Of couse I am," replied Agron, raising Nasir's hand to his lips to press a kiss to it. "I may not look like it, but I'm ready." He twined an arm about his little man's waist, then pulled him close and kissed him fully on the mouth. As always, whenever physical contact between them occurred, Agron felt his blood begin to heat and rush, the heady feeling stealing over him quickly.

The kiss though was broken as the music began to play from inside, the cue to the men to make their entrance. Pulling away, they shared a look, and with a nod of Agron's head, Nasir waved his hand, magicking the doors open.

"The Lords of Daelan Hall, Nasir Khirami and Agron Schild." The announcement of the herald rang out in the hall, which erupted into thunderous applause as the two men came forward. Agron purposefully shortened his stride in order to keep even pace with Nasir.

Upon reaching the front of the hall, Agron gave a short speech welcoming their guests to Daelan. All the people assembled there were witnessing the pair's taking on the mantle of Lordship of the lands of Agron's birth, bestowed upon them by the newly crowned Regent Oenomaus.

Afterwards, there was an innaugural feast, and dancing till the early hours of the morning. Agron only let go of Nasir twice, when Mira and then Spartacus cut in on him. This was their life now. No more fighting, no more war, no more suffering. They had come together to defeat the Dark Sorceress, bringing peace to the land, and would rule over Daelan together. Afterall, there was more than one way to be a dyad.

**Author's Note:**

> The above was heavily influenced by the many RPGs I've played over the years. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
